


Forwards in Reverse

by Raunchel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Childhood, Dark, F/F, Family, Gen, Hippies, Humor, POV Lesbian Character, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raunchel/pseuds/Raunchel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war against Voldemort was lost. Hermione is one of the few survivors, and in her desperation, she uses ancient magic to return to another time. This would have worked perfectly if she hadn't made a slight mistake, which causes everything to go completely wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Time slipping away

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry for taking up all of your time with this little introduction, but I think that there are a few things that I should explain before the rest of the story comes.
> 
> First of all, I own absolutely nothing, except maybe what's in my wardrobe. And not even all of that.
> 
> Secondly, I think that I should give a brief explanation of what I'm planning. The basic idea behind this story is what if Hermione was not into boys at all, and fell only for girls, even though she never really told anyone, or showed anything. That led to a nastier fight with Ron, when he asked her, and she told him. He was rather angry about it, and left them as in the books, but because he was more upset, got himself killed. This in turn changed everything at the battle of Hogwarts. Without his friends really there for him, Harry lost hope, and when he died, he remained dead.
> 
> This in turn led to the collapse of all resistance to Voldemort, and Hermione, the only surviving member of our trio, trying desperate measures. She will be going back in time, to try to salvage the situation.

She is all alone, stalking through the empty hallway. Blue-whitish light reflecting from the black tiles that cover every surface. She looks terrible. Her brown hair is a wilderness, there even are some leaves tangled up in it. But she doesn't care, not anymore, not after what has happened. Her jeans and jacket are torn, and her sneakers only vaguely betray that they had once been white, now they are covered in mud, and worse. She has only cleaned them enough to prevent herself from leaving marks on the clean floor that could lead to being discovered. Her face looks pallid, and bears obvious bruises and smears under her eyes. Her tired eyes dance around furtively, looking for any sort of threat. She hears nothing, but still she holds her wand, always ready.

Hermione Granger is all alone in the building, it is a Saturday night, and almost all of the Ministry workers should be at home now. Even after all that has happened. They simply kept working, but now they work for him. Her mind is filled with all the memories which haunt her every waking moment. She has only one chance, and she has to take it now. It is desperate, but desperation is all that was left. The war is over, and they had lost.

She remembers how it all went, his return, the battles that they had fought. And even the hope that had briefly surged as they hunted for the horcruxes. That maybe, they could stop the reign of darkness. But in the end they failed, how could they not have failed? They knew so little, and they were up against so much, with so few they could trust. Unprepared and weak they were, every last one of them. They had fought, and they had come close, even after they had been abandoned by Ron. He was selfish, but still, she hates herself for allowing that to happen. She should have seen that he loved her in a way that she never loved him, or any boy for that matter. She should have been more open about her attraction to girls before all of that happened. Without him everything became much, much harder. She only forgave him when she heard of his death on the small radio they had brought, one amongst dozens of names. Another friend taken away by him, She felt guilty over this, and Harry was heartbroken. He hadn't taken well to his leaving, and even worse to the news of his death, because of him.

Not even in her thoughts she dares to use the name, any sort of reference. Speaking it out loud is a death sentence, and she is afraid even of her own thoughts now that he has won. The moment of defeat had been clearly marked. It happened at Hogwarts, where everything began. She remembers him coming to the castle, telling them all that Harry was dead. She didn't believe it, but the boy was nowhere to be found, and when she saw the body being carried forwards by the Death Eaters she cried.

Just like all the others, haunting her through the nights, in all of her nightmares. When that had happened it was clear that the darkness had won, and all defense had collapsed. She never heard who had died that night, the radio no longer broadcast after that night. She only fled, first from the castle, and then from every hiding place she had found, all of them discovered. She had fought, always on the run driven only by her fear. Always managing to barely escape, until she had found the most desperate idea.

It had been madness. She knew it when she started, but she refused to give up. There was nothing left to do, she couldn't spend her whole life running. She needed something, and she found something. Going to Diagon Alley seemed suicidal at first, but that was exactly why it had worked. It was unexpected, and she had succeeded. She had gone into several stores, and bought any book that might have been helpful, using up the last bit of polyjuice potion that she had with her to become a muggle she had found in the streets.

And those books had helped her a lot. They were the reason why she is now breaking into the Department of Mysteries, all alone. She could only do this alone, and could only hope that what she had read was true. If not, she will be found, and there will be no escape, only death. Somewhere she longs for it, an end to all of this. Hermione finally enters the department, remembering the Entrance all too well. Twelve doors, of which only one holds what she needs. There is bound to be a way to open the right one, but she will have to rely on chance. And chance alone.

She opens a first door, but it is the wrong one. There is a planetarium inside, and she turns around too open another. The second door is the same, and she curses. She marks all the doors with a number, to make it easier. But when she returns to the Entrance Chamber from another failed attempt, she finds that the numbers are gone, and she sighs. She knows her arithmancy well enough, and makes a quick calculation. It will take a lot of attempts, but if there is one trait that the has always had, it is a certain stubbornness, although some of course would call it foolhardiness. She tries door after door, sighing, none of them reveals the chamber that she looks for. But still she doesn't give up, she has come too far. Finally, when she has opened thirty doors, she gets lucky, and the thirty-first is the chamber that she needs.

She enters it with trepidation, this is what it all comes down to. The Time Chamber. She allows herself a brief smile on her dirty face, she sees the thing that she was looking for. The bell jar that she had read about, and which she had seen all those years ago. They feel like an eternity. With it, and the right spells, which she had memorized, she can do what she has to.

Hermione freezes, she hears something. Voices. There is no time left to think, no time to hide. Someone will find her, and this is her only chance. She whispers a spell, and then another as she waves her stolen wand. The glass starts to crack, opening up the anomaly that is contained inside. She then uses another simple spell, to take out the egg inside, finally giving the little animal inside its freedom after all that time. All the glass on one side flies away, and the girl swallows. If what madam Mintumble wrote was correct, this would be the way.

She blinks, readying herself for the final incantation, even as the voices come closer. They are too close. She needs more time. She mutters an incantation, and tiles rise up from the ground, forming a wall just in front of the door. And then she continues her complex magic, focusing. It is difficult. There are so many things that can go wrong. She pictures everything exactly as it was when she first heard of Hogwarts. In the living room, speaking to professor McGonagall. She pictures exactly what everything looked like, just as the book described. Nothing is more important than precision, although she didn't read why.

She hears the tiles cracking under some force and she worries for a moment as she speaks the final word and dives into the jar.

XxXxX

And then, nothing. Emptiness, blackness. It is warm, a bit like being underwater, but she has no sensation of needing air. Immediately she hears a terrible sound, like a bang. She wonders what it is, and soon enough, it repeats again. A slamming, booming noise. And there are more sounds. Something bubbling, gurgling and something flowing. Disgusting. But it is so warm, so comfortable. She moves her hand, but it seems weak and slow. So slow. And she feels tired.


	2. Chapter 1: A Question of Time and Space

Hermione drifts from and into sleep, never hanging on for long. She finds it hard to separate, one moment she can think clearly, she realizes that something is wrong, and then she falls back into dreams. Always dreams. They are the same, she sees what has happened over the last few years. She sees the faces, all of her friends, dead and alive then, now all dead. She sees it happen again, them falling, them leaving, Hogwarts burning. Houses burning, bridges falling and towers crashing to the ground. And no one to put it out, no one to stop it. She hears the screams, and the laughter. Twisted laughter, from twisted throats. The laughter of the mad and evil. And she sees them too, the Death Eaters, and him. She sees his cold eyes in her dreams, and she shivers with terror. And the others, the mad woman, who has caused her so much pain and suffering. The cold man, taking power for himself over those too weak to resist. Only terror, horror and fear. The end of the world, her world, both of her worlds.

She has a lucid moment, and she thinks. The spell has failed, she has failed, she allowed herself to be distracted. She should have been herself, at that time, just before Hogwarts. With time to prepare, time to plan and time to act. She could have won the war. But she hasn't, she failed, again she failed. And now she is somewhere, nowhere perhaps. She fears that it is driving her mad, the constant noises in the darkness. The weakness of her body, she can barely move, and she hardly tries to.

Above the thudding sound she hears something new. Vaguely like music, but muffled. But still she recognizes it, she can't recall who made it, but it is muggle music, she never cared much for music. High-pitched singing reaches her above a rhythmic beat although she can't distinguish what is being sung. She doesn't have to. Some of the words come to her mind, placed there by having heard them a hundred times. Not all of the words, only two, repeating themselves, over and over again: "Night Fever, Night Fever"

Is she becoming insane? Has she been captured after all, and is this a prison? She wonders, but there is no easy answer. Again she moves her arms through the warm water. She still has not drowned. It must be some magical liquid to keep her alive for interrogation. It is the only explanation. But Hermione can't grasp why she hears the muggle music. It makes no sense. None of his followers would even admit to knowing it, let alone play something like that.

Then she feels something, on her belly. It is hard to feel, she doesn't feel much, her senses numbed by her surroundings. But she can feel something. It feels slippery, like everything else. But it is like a rope, and it throbs, following the rapid pace of her heart. She follows it, it leads towards her, touching where her navel should be. Then she realizes it. The spell has worked, but in the wrong way. She has failed, but only in part. She is a prisoner in another way. It all starts to make sense. She has returned in time, but she went too far. Too deep into the past. She failed to focus on the moment, and she went to the earliest moments.

Before her own birth.

She drifts from sleep to wakefulness, hardly separating the difference anymore. All alone with her thoughts and the occasional muffled sounds, lights, and movements. She no longer hears the noise surrounding her, only when it is different. The gurgling has faded into the background, now that she knows what it is. By now she can even make it out when her mother is saying something, but it remains too distorted to really understand what is being said.

If only she had studied the muggle sciences. Hermione knows that they would have taught her how children develop before birth, she once saw it in a book, but she took another, finding the biography of the composer Mozart more interesting. She should have chosen differently. She could have determined how long she would have to remain like this, how far she had come. And perhaps even track time in some way. But she can't. She knows next to nothing about it.

XxXxX

She has faded away again, losing consciousness, after what might have been months or minutes. She can't keep track anymore. She knows that she has faded, because she can see. Or maybe it is merely a memory, coming to the fore again. At least she knows that it isn't true.

She is walking through Hogwarts, and she instantly recognizes when it was. There was only one time that Ron had been dressed like that, in his special robes. It would have brought a smile to her face if it weren't for the sadness that she feels at the sight. Now the look of the frilly, rather hideous thing shows how wrong she had been. She should never have accepted to be his date for the ball. She shouldn't have gone at all. But it was better than going with Krum, she had found the Bulgarian rather creepy, always watching her in the library. But she should have never given Ron hope like that.

But still, she was walking by his side, towards the great hall. She couldn't say a word, only observing from her own eyes. She knows that she will be able to change things, but that will take time. An infinity of time. Slowly she sees the others, and she already knows what her eyes will see. They dwell on the girls, especially those she considered beautiful. She should have done the impossible thing, asked one of them. But she couldn't. She didn't dare to. Afraid of being judged, afraid of being laughed at again, afraid of being disappointed. Well, she was disappointed, she thinks bitterly, and she disappointed everyone.

If only she had managed to preserve the peace. Ron wouldn't have left them, and wouldn't have died. Harry wouldn't have seen it as another death on his conscience. And he wouldn't have left the castle, going all alone to face him. She only found out when Neville told her, and it already was too late. Harry never came back, he died. And with him hope died. But that was not what she was seeing now. She was seeing her own feet, remembering how she had looked at them for most of the ball. She hadn't danced, not for a single moment, but she also hadn't left. She had stayed, and she had watched others having fun. Like she had done so often.

The scene fades, and she sees nothing. Only the blackness of her prison. Her warm, comfortable prison. She wants to be free from it, to be out in the world. But she knows that even birth will not set her free. She will be helpless. And she will have to be careful. She can't betray what she knows, not before it is the time. She would only be called insane, and might even attract attention. The wrong kind of it. Obliviators could ruin everything, even this last hope.

And she needs a plan. Something to do for all those long years before she can go to Hogwarts, and get a wand. She will need a letter to do that. She can't go alone to Diagon Alley to purchase one. But that will take many years. And she needs it to perform any kind of magic.

She wonders what she can do without magic. She can study, but only muggle subjects. She can't yet travel, not for years. Anyone would immediately pick her up, and return her to her parents. The growing girl dreads these years, all of them spent in helplessness. She knows some of the terrible things that will happen, and there will be no way to stop them. None at all. She can't tell the Potters about what will soon happen to them. She can't save all those poor people who will still be killed, like the muggles blown up by Wormtail. She can't prevent Sirius from going to prison. She can't warn the Longbottoms about their terrible fate. She can't do anything at all. Nothing for many years.

She would have cried, but she can't. Not really. Only her head shakes, she can't even sob.

XxXxX

Again she is dreaming, she is seeing. But it all is blurry. Which her dreams hardly ever are, especially not the ones that she can actually observe. They are always clear. Except for this one time. She can also hear sounds, just like the muffled sounds she heard only moments before, but they too are distorted.

Finally everything clears up and she can see. It is a place that she has never seen. She sees a room with off-white walls, with smoke hanging in the air. There are yellow-brown lamps casting their light into it, and Hermione sees a man sitting next to her. He has long red-brownish and rather unwashed hair. He holds a cigarette in his hand. He wears a faded blue T-shirt and looks as though he isn't entirely present. But she can catch what he says: "… like I said."

She then hears another voice, a woman's: "Neil, Shirley", her field of vision turns to reveal a middle-aged woman, who looks as though she is the really proper kind, unlike the man. "I know that it is your child, but really, this is no place to let it grow up. I told you before, and I'll repeat it now. It is filthy. You have to move to a better place."

"But mom", the voice sounds as though it is being spoken by her, but she doesn't know it. "Our place is more than good enough. Neil and I have been living here for years now, and our little baby star will shine all the brighter here."

"You're not even married, for goodness sake. I want you to come home, Shirley, your father wants it too. It would make him very happy.", the prim lady replies.

"Dad said that he didn't want to see me again until I did exactly as he told me. And I won't. I'm happy! Why can't you see that? I love Neil, and I will live the way I want to!"

"Yeah, what Shirley said.", the man says and her sight focuses on him again, "Our love is real. You don't like me, which is OK, I guess. You can like whoever you like, but don't tell other people who they should like or not. That is really heavy."

Whoever she is looking from looks down for a moment, and takes a pull of a cigarette she hold. Hermione can clearly see the large belly of the woman, but she doesn't know any Shirley, or any Neil. This has to be a dream. It has to be. She wonders who these people are. She feels as though she is in Shirley's head, but at the same time, she can't be, because she doesn't know her. She feels that she is losing her grip on the conversation, and everything fades away again, back to blackness. Back to endless dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think of this so far. I know that she is dreaming a lot right now, but the big reason for that is that unborn children spend a large part of their time asleep, and I figured that having the thought processes of an adolescent would only be a bigger drain, and further increase the need for sleep.


	3. A Knowing Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. This is the second chapter, where Hermione's new surroundings will become a bit clearer. I hope that it's not too boring, and I promise that there will be some more magic and actual action soon enough. The chapters will also become a bit longer, mostly because the main character will actually become capable of doing something.
> 
> And fifteen points for who guesses which show the soon-to-be father is inspired (blatantly stolen) from!

Hermione had spent most of the time between her dreams trying to think. It was difficult to get a grasp on anything, she often lost track again, as she fell back into sleep. But now she has her mind together again. She knows that she messed up. She has been reduced to the state of an unborn child, but she doesn't even know if it is the unborn her, or someone else entirely. The time that she had seen through the woman had given her the idea that she might not have been with her parents, her real parents, but it might also have just been a dream.

But what if it was no dream? She might be born to other parents then, to another life. She went back into her memories, and thought about her past. She had never seen any photographs of her pregnant mother. Maybe she had been adopted, and they never told her? No. That couldn't be. Her parents would never have lied like that, and she looked like them. Quite a bit actually. No, she hadn't been adopted. They wouldn't lie to her about something like that.

But what had happened then? She is wondering, and focuses her entire small mind on the matter. And she fades again, and again looks through another's eyes. She can smell now, and she smells the smoke. It is a sickening smell, but the one she looks through seems not to notice. And she can taste it, burning in her mouth. Disgusting. And yet, there is no reaction to it.

She is watching a black-and-white television. She can't remember watching one of those. It looks old-fashioned, and she hears someone talking about something economic. Something that never really interested Hermione. And then she hears a voice that she recognizes, next to her, Neil's: "Wow, heavy. Can you believe it? Cutting taxes for the rich!"

"Yes dear", she heard the woman she was in saying, "Thatcher's only there for the big capitalists. That's what you get with the bourgeois."

"It's sad you know? Our baby born under this Junta."

"She or he can be a beacon of hope for us all. I told you before, and I'll tell you again. We have to make our own lives, our own future and our own paradise, because the military-industrial complex only wants to make us conform to their order."

"I guess that you're right. But we need a name for our child. Like Vyvyan."

"Oh no, silly", she replies, "it has to be a name that shows hope, and light. Not like one of your friends from Scumbag. They don't even care for you!"

"I know, it's heavy, but I lived with them. And they didn't kill me. Like this government is like trying."

is was thinking furiously, trying to let the woman think of Hermione. It is her name. It always has been, and always will be. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, say Hermione."

"How about Rainbow? To show that she or he is colourful. And the hope that things will get better. If we try."

"No, no, no. That's not what it's supposed to be.", she thinks, hoping that the slow man at least had better sense.

"That's like a very nice name.", he says instead, causing Hermione to almost mentally shout at him. Not that he can hear of course. "But a baby can't just be called Rainbow."

Hope surges in Hermione at long last, maybe there will finally be a better idea. Neil continues: "Rainbow Star. That's much better."

"Yes, much better. Much more hopeful, and it doesn't matter if we get a boy or a girl. We can have our little Rainbow Star."

"Having a child is a bit heavy. We don't own anyone."

Her vision moves forwards, and she sees that the woman is about to kiss Neil. She panics, and slips away, back into the darkness. The warm, comfortable darkness.

She keeps thinking. About all the things that have happened. The idea of being adopted is gone now, and it seemed too real to be a dream. She has ruined the spell more thoroughly than she had thought at first. She won't be Hermione Granger. It makes sense now. She thought about nothing the moment she completed it, only panic. And the spell took her somewhere.

But now she also knows more. Names. There is someone named Thatcher. She sometimes heard her parents about a woman with that name before she went to school. She was the muggle prime minister throughout her childhood, and had been for some time. That means that she hasn't gone very far back, not far before her time. She knows that Thatcher fell when she just started Hogwarts, her parents had written about it. And she came to power around the time that she was born, she remembers that too. So, this is during her early youth.

She thinks about the other hints that were there. The circumstances looked primitive. It could mean that her parents to be are merely poor, but even then, no one lived like that when she went to school. None of her friends did. And that television was equally ancient. No, it has to be early. And that is good. It gives her some time. Time to make plans, and the time to be there in time.

But what more does she know already? Her parents are muggles, and they don't know much about her yet. And then it strikes her. Is she a she?

Moving is hard, and very slow. She can't feel much. But now she has to know for sure, otherwise she will surely be devoured by the question. She slowly moves one of her hands through the liquid, feeling with numb fingers. Past the throbbing cord binding her to her mother. And she feels. She feels nothing. But then she wonders if this is an answer. Are those things even present at this time in development? How far along is she?

XxXxX

Hermione is floating around, surrounded by faces. Dozens of them. All of them people she knew. People who died because she didn't do what she should have done. She didn't think. She sees Harry, glaring at her, having fled into death. She sees Ron, as he was when he stomped off, enraged, his face redder than his hair. Dead because she broke him. She sees Mrs. Weasley, who had tried to save her children at Hogwarts, but had been cursed in the back. She had become careless because Hermione had caused her son's death, and had been distracted because of her anger towards Hermione. She sees Neville, who told her about Harry, and who she told that he shouldn't have allowed it to happen. He was killed by his fire because of that. She sees the way he looked at her while he burned, the desperation and the anger. She sees Sirius, who came to save them. She should not have fallen for the trap, she was the thinker, and she sees his scowl.

She sees more and more faces, all of them angry with her. She failed everyone. And then they fade, and she is surrounded by blackness again. Warm, soft blackness. Her dreams focus more and more on the many ways in which she has failed. Not only with the going back in time, but with everything that went before. Her waking moments she spends thinking, but never for long. The dreams always come to take her after even a little while. But now she feels clear again, and she thinks about the people who will be her parents. She has seen no sign of them being wizards, which makes sense, the vast majority of people are muggles after all.

But still, it leads to more questions. The most profound of these is if she will actually be a witch. She hopes that she will. But she can't know for sure. If she is born as a muggle, how can she ever help anyone? How can she do anything to save them? Of course, she can try to send them a few letters with information, but that would be it. Everything she plans would be for nothing, useless. Worse than useless even. She would be no one. Just another muggle, but one who knows far too much to ever live in her ignorance. She is mortally afraid of that, of having once tasted magic and losing it completely.

The feeling must be a bit like the fear of many wizarding parents that their child will be a squib, but even worse. She knows that they have a terrible life, starting with many expectations, and in the end, there is nothing that they can do. Only fail. They will never lead a good muggle life, haunted by the question of what they could have done if they had had magic. She wonders what she will do if that is the case. She hopes that she will have the strength to fight, to give information in secret. There are many things that she knows, and which she might be able to get to the right people. But once that is done? What can she do then?

She remembers what it was like with the timeturner. She recalls all too well the events of that night, when they used it together. They had saved themselves. Time had been in a loop. Nothing had changed by them going back, just like everything had. And she knows why her idea was a poor one. There was nothing that she could change. All the events were fixed already. And she knows it for certain now. She will be born a muggle, and all the letters that she might send, all the attempts that she could make to talk with people. They will all fail.

With the despair setting in she feels her surroundings come closer around her, placing pressure all over herself. A moment later it lets go again. She wonders what it is, and an indeterminate amount of time later, she feels it again. She feels that she is pushed around, and relaxes. Whatever is happening, she should do nothing against it.

Time and time again she can feel the pushing. They seem to become harder, take longer, and more frequent. Then, suddenly, she can feel that there is less liquid around her, as it flows away, in the direction that her head is facing. Her heart starts beating faster, and she can hear a voice. But doesn't know where she is.

She is pushed again, much harder this time, and she feels herself moving. Slowly but certainly she is being pushed. And it hurts. It feels as though someone has piled dozens of books on her. Especially on her head. She feels that she is being forced through a tunnel that doesn't fit. It is too small. And she panics. It hurts, and it feels like her head is bursting. She can feel it on her eyes, on her nose, on every part of it. Almost as though her head is being shaped. Which is impossible. Bone can't bend. It's too hard for that.

Hermione is losing track of how long this is taking, absorbed as she is by the pain, the pressure. She feels a touch on the top of her head, going around it, and now it feels as though someone is both trying to push in her head and to pull it off at the same time. She wants to cry, but she can't.

Suddenly she moves, and she is blinded. From the blackness she sees bright light, going right through the lids of the eyes. It hurts, but at least the pressure is gone. The rest of her body hurts as well, but not as badly as her head, which still feels like someone put it into one of those machines to destroy cars. She feels strange, the air is unpleasant, burning almost, and she grasps for breath, which hurts her untouched lungs. And she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that I didn't mess up the description of the birth. Hermione is getting some things wrong, but I assume that she never really studied such matters. Of course, her perspective on the matter is quite a bit of conjecture, as I haven't been able to find any first-hand accounts of being born written by anyone.
> 
> And please, leave a comment to tell me how I am doing!


	4. A New Life

After the horrifying experience Hermione could only feel the pain. Her ears couldn't understand what was being said around her, all the sounds were malformed. She forced her eyes to open to the bright light, but again she only saw indistinct shapes, not human beings. But the voices that she heard, even if they were incomprehensible, they were soft to her ears. Soothing, almost making her forget her pain.

She is being lifted into the air, and she feels herself placed somewhere soft, but it's still cold. Far too cold. She's no longer used to it. And every breath hurts, burning through her newly opened lungs. But she needs it, the air, she feels like she is suffocating. She grasps for more air, and she feels it enter new parts of her, where there has never been any. Breathing becomes easier by the moment, and she feels herself calming down, and she feels her exhaustion.

When she wakes again she feels something strange around her. Opening her eyes, she can see that it is some sort of fabric. She can't see very well yet, but it is improving. Her whole body aches, as though she has been kicked by a dozen Slytherins, all over her body. She looks around, she lies on a whitish surface, which is soft. She can see the light being broken up by bars going upwards. She must be in a cot then. But where? The surroundings are light, of course they are, but they are not white, there are many bright colours. She can't be in a hospital then, those always have white walls, as far as she can remember.

Then she hears a voice: "Ooh, my little Rainbow. Aren't you beautiful? Yes you are. Say hello to Linda!"

She turned her head towards the source of the sound, and she can make out pale flesh surrounded by what must be a mane of black hair. She knows that she can't talk yet, but she does react with a soft: "Weh."

"Who's a sweet baby? Oh yes, such a sweet little inny minny baby girly."

At that moment Hermione knows for sure that she will hate this Linda forever. She is just too annoying. And she doesn't stop in her terrible attempts to entertain the newborn, she only entertains herself. Probably one of those people who tell everyone how much fun they are, while everyone secretly wishes them to be elsewhere, like in Australia.

The thought brings memories of her parents to her. Her real parents. But whoever these people are, they are also her parents. Her new real parents. She knows that it will be difficult, but she will have to consider the Grangers to be only a memory. Her old life.

Her attention was drawn back to the present, when Linda finally left her alone, but she could still hear her high-pitched voice: "Oh Shirley! Your little girl is just so sweet! And she adores me!"

All she could do as a response was to stay lying down, even moving her arms was hard, and she couldn't talk. Not while breathing was still a challenge. And as far as she recalled, she shouldn't be able to do it yet anyways. But she doesn't know when she should. She can't betray herself, she doesn't want attention drawn to her. But she fears that she won't be able to do it right. To play the part that she must.

Suddenly she feels herself lifted up, and opens her eyes to see another woman. But she can't get a good look before she is pressed against her breast. And she finds it disgusting. But she is hungry, and she tells herself that this is perfectly natural and normal. Nothing to be ashamed of. She closes her eyes, and she does what untold numbers of children have done before her. And what she knows that she has done herself years ago, but without any memories of it. She drinks.

Shirley meanwhile makes cooing sounds, which Hermione finds grating. She always hated being treated as a child, and this is the worst she has ever had.

XxXxX

Some time later Linda has finally left, and she is lying in the arms of the woman who now is her mother. She can see clearer now, but still not as well as she was used to. They are alone, when she sees a long-haired man come into the small room. She instantly recognizes the voice, it's Neil, her new father. He sounds slow, and a bit tired even: "I'm sorry. I called again, and they didn't even say a word. They just like broke the connection."

The woman replies, clearly sad: "They just don't want us to be happy together. My parents are far too traditional for that. And they can't stand you, and they can't understand that marriage is outdated. But I don't care, we're happy together, you, me, and our little Rainbow."

"Yeah, but it's heavy. She won't have any grandparents.", he leaned over her, and his face became a bit clearer. He seemed to be very friendly, but not all that intelligent. "I always wanted grandparents."

"I know. I would also have wanted our daughter to have a bigger family. But she has us. And Linda also took a liking to her. When the rest returns from their trip I'm certain that they will also like her."

"Yeah, they're nice. But they won't be back for weeks, when they finish their walk. I still don't really get why everyone just decided to walk to Scotland and back just now.", he still speaks slowly. Hermione gets the idea that he is far from intelligent, but at least friendly. Which is something. Shirley seems to be more intelligent than her partner, but she has issues with her family. She recalls her mother coming to visit, it was far from nice and she obviously disapproved of something they had done.

"I guess that they just didn't want to be here when she was born. Only Linda stayed to help me with it. And you of course."

XxXxX

Over the days Hermione got to know more and more about her surroundings. And they shocked her. Her parents didn't have a house, they were living in one that they shared with a whole group of people, even though she didn't know how many. Her parents had a bedroom for the two of them, and another small room where they put her, little more than a broom closet like Harry told her about. But this one was filled with clothes.

Slowly she could move a little more, but still everything feels heavy. When she was alone, she practiced her speech, and she found that she could form words, although not yet perfectly. But it was better than crying. Something that she refuses to do all the time. It is demeaning. She feels tired all the time, and it is hard to keep track of the days. Sometimes it is dark, sometimes it is light, but she can't keep track of how much time there is between the wakeful moments. In none of the places where she comes, the green garden, or all of the rooms of the house, there is a clock.

Linda is around almost as much as her actual parents are, leading her to wonder if any of them has a real job. They never seem to leave for long, always coming to look at her. After some time more people showed up, most of them as well-dressed as Neil, or Shirley for that matter. Shirley mostly wore oversized dresses, with many colours, sometimes in floral patterns. And there were always splotches of what seemed to be paint everywhere. Hermione never really cared for clothes, but she cared about looking like an idiot. Although, if she had really been named Rainbow Star, she has other issues already.

Someone appears in her room, picking her up with greasy hands. It has to be Neil, she thinks that he is opposed to washing himself every day. "Hello Rainbow! How are you today?"

She looks at him, encouraging him to talk. "Shirley isn't here now, but I can keep you company."

He sits down, her in his lap, and looking down at his daughter: "You know, I like you very much, it's heavy, I never thought that I would have such a pretty baby."

Tears start to well up in his eyes, confirming her idea that he is a very kind man. She opens her mouth: "Daddy?"

"Oh!", he replies, smiling widely, "You can talk already? That's nice, I guess. I hope that I'm not boring you. Or maybe it's just the stuff from yesterday that makes me think you are. Can you really talk?"

"Daddy?", she repeated, wondering how far she could come. And what sort of 'stuff' he was referring to. She knew that some muggles used substances, but those were terrible. They had their whole lifes destroyed by it. And then it strikes her. Her parents had told her about those drug users, people who didn't do anything with their lives, only trying to get money to buy more of their drugs. They don't care for themselves, they live in squalor. That's what she was told, and now it all makes sense. Her new parents are addicts. Slaves to their cravings. Almost as terrible as what some potions or magical artifacts can do.

She doesn't want that to be the case, but it makes sense. It explains why Shirley's parents want her to come home, to leave all this behind. It explains why there are so many dirty people here, they don't have the money to get their own places. It explains why they are almost always at home, they don't work. They only try to find their 'stuff'. They no longer care about themselves, that's why everything is filthy. It even explains why many of them are so slow, their minds get damaged by it. The thought fills her with horror, what if she will become like them? Her mind gone. Can they do that to her? She is afraid that they can, but they are so nice. It's confusing.

The sadness must be shown on her face, because Neil starts looking worried. "Did I do something wrong little Star? What was it? Am I frightening you?"

"No.", she says, instantly regretting the stupidity of it. A baby can't speak yet. She should not go much further than just daddy or so. She shouldn't even understand what he's saying. But she does.

"Oh, you're only saying that to make me feel better about myself. You're a sweet one, really. What upset you?"

Her mind races, questioning what she can do. She can keep her silence, and hope that he forgets, but he looks so sad, sadder even than a young wolpertinger, which every witch who has read Fantastic Beasts of the Alpine regions, part III knows to be amongst those with the greatest capacity for sadness, far more so than the mundane puppy, which even muggles are familiar with. But it could get her into trouble. On the other hand, she could speak to him, and he might keep her secret. If she asks him to.

Unfortunately for her, the sad eyes make the decision for her: "No", she grabbed a hold of herself before things went too far out of hand. "Daddy nice."

It was hard to pretend to speak in such a childlike manner, she never was any good with them, or liked them for that matter. So, she never had much of an opportunity to learn about such things. Her reply seemed to surprise Neil, and he remained silent, some of the sadness lifted away. But finally his slow voice returned to her ears: "Wow, heavy. You really talk. Shirley will be happy, I guess. She is really nice you know. She never calls me stupid. And she loves you a lot."

XxXxX

Slowly Hermione, or Rainbow Star, as her name now was, showed more and more of her ability to talk. She still found keeping track of time difficult, but she had discovered more things. Her mother is a painter, trying to get by selling her paintings, but for some reason that didn't work out all that well. At first Hermione didn't understand why, there are lots of people who like paintings. But then she saw them. They are, well, to put it mildly, strange. To her it looks like random splotches of colour, but Shirley would disagree with that assessment. Neil is writing something, but it never really became clear what it is supposed to be. But then again, he isn't the clearest of people at any time. He is strange enough to be an eccentric wizard.

Linda, who she saw almost as much as her parents was working on turning the garden into some sort of urban organic farm. She always talks about how most food only poisoned people. She didn't see the others as much, but there was at least one person who was constantly using a chainsaw. The sound often fills the house, like it does now, which is why she is still awake, despite feeling very tired. It is a terrible sound, and she finds herself wishing for a wand, to curse whoever thinks that this is a good idea.

Her cot has been moved to Shirley's studio, presumably so she can be watched while her mother works. She tries to close her eyes, to finally sleep, but the noise is too much. The chainsawer really deserves a proper cursing. And not one of the mild ones either. She wonders which one would be fitting. Probably something with a noise in their ears.

The door opens, or rather, the curtain that passes for one is torn aside. It is easy to hear because of the little bells that Shirley attached to them. It is a nice idea, but it gets annoying when the windows are open and there is even the slightest bit of wind. She turns her head to see who it is, but she didn't need to do that. From the voice it is clear enough already. Linda. She almost shouts: "Have you heard what they want to do!? They want to throw us out of this house, for some shopping center!"

"What!?", Shirley shouts back, "They can't do that. We have rights! We have to call a meeting! Form a committee! And take action. We can't let the fascists get away with it!"

XxXxX

She had fallen asleep at the meeting, which had soon degenerated into arguments about the exact nature of the fascists who were evicting them, and if it was the correct term to use. After only a few minutes it was clear that they wouldn't stand a chance. And so it went.

She awakes outside, carried by Shirley, towards a strange car, or rather, van. It is painted in bright colours, with flowers all over. She has seen those before, mostly when she was younger, and her parents had told her that funny people had those. Which could only mean that she now is one of the funny people. And of course, Linda is there: "Hi little Rainbow! Wave bye-bye to your old house. Oh yes, bye-bye. It is going to be demolished, to make room for shops. They're really mean, no one can send such a sweet little baby like you away. Oh yes, you're Linda's sweetest baby."

She however doesn't react, she still doesn't speak much, and mostly pretends that she has no clue, especially where Linda is concerned. She hates being around the woman.

"I hope that it won't upset her you know?", Shirley interrupts, "she was just getting used to this place, and now she has to move again."


	5. A Past Without Ghosts

She wakes up with a start. Another bad dream, like almost all of them. She dreamt of her parents, her original ones, wandering through the simmering Australian heat. She called to them, but they couldn't hear her. They simply kept walking through the desert, and all the time she tried bringing them something to drink. But they didn't notice, and slowly died of thirst.

Now that she is awake she checks her surroundings. Everything is as it should be. She has a small room in the old building that they have been living in for the past three years. She likes this house, it is much nicer than the old one, where she had lived for four years. Here they have a very nice garden, and not as many other people in the same house. Only Linda, her parents, which is how she has started calling them now, she no longer uses the adjective 'new' for them. It just feels normal that way. And Linda's new boyfriend, James, who actually has a real job. He works as a technician for the railways. He is a strict vegetarian, like everyone in her new life, but he takes it further than the others, not even wanting any milk or eggs.

She doesn't go to school. Instead, Neil is home-schooling her next to his work, which apparently means writing the occasional article about peace, reading a little and occasionally going away to give a talk. She doesn't care very much for it, but she loves his teaching methods. She tried going to school at first, but she hated it there. Everyone saw her as the strange kid, with the weirdo parents, and that led to Neil becoming her tutor. He might not always seem too intelligent, but he still has a doctorate. Almost as soon as they started he lost track, and she said that she had already done all the reading, writing and basic math, so he just gave her a bunch of books to work through. Naturally, she already knew most of those things, so, she received a library card, and now she goes there every few days, to find new books to read. At first there were some comments that she might be a little young for them, but she simply said that they were for her parents. Which is why she makes a point of always also getting at least one book aimed more at her age.

Slowly she gets out of the bed, which was made a few years ago by Shirley, from roughly cut planks, and a lot of brightly-coloured paint. Over time she has come to like it. It really is hers, no one else has anything like it. She reaches under her pillow, to retrieve her watch. Her parents don't want her to have one, because time shouldn't dictate a child's life, but her life should dictate time. Hermione however doesn't agree with that, she likes knowing how late it is. It is six in the morning. Everyone else will still be sleeping, and she herself looks up to the ceiling, which has been painted with stars in all the colours, because it fits with her name.

The other children that she has met tend to laugh at her when she introduces herself. None of her names are normal. Apparently her last name has become Star, because her parents don't believe in using any of their old-fashioned names. And she doesn't enjoy playing anyways, it is far too childish for her, and she really prefers reading. And thinking. There are just so many things to think about. Like the book that Linda just gave her. A children's book, but still she likes it. It is about a really clever girl, who can lift things with her mind. It was what she was reading last night until she had finished it.

Thinking about it brings a smile to her face. Perhaps it will work today. She stands up and places a pencil on her desk, before sitting down and looking intently at it. From close by, she needs her glasses to see it from further away. That was another surprise about her new life, she doesn't have her old good eyes, and without glasses everything is a little hazy.

She stars intently at the pencil, and points her finger at it, moving it like she would move a wand. "Wingardium leviosa", she whispers. But nothing happens. She is used to it, but she hoped that at least something would work. But she doesn't give up that easily, and again she tries it, focusing on the pencil, the words and the movement.

Again it fails.

She sighs. Again she whispers: "Wingardium leviosa"

She keeps going for almost an hour, trying all sorts of charms that she remembers, but nothing. Not the slightest motion, not the slightest change in colour. She swallows, like she always does. There is one thing that she fears more than any other. That she is in fact a muggle.

XxXxX

She is lying in the long grass, reading about airplanes. She knows that it might not be very useful, but she has been wondering about how they work for a while now. Not even she could dedicate every waking moment to her mission. If it was even possible at all. She needs to distract herself from the failure. And so she dives ever deeper into books. Her one and only refuge.

Just as she is starting to grasp the concept of air movements across a wing she is interrupted: "Rainbow?", Neil asks, "can I join you?"

"Sure", she replies half-heartedly as her father sits down next to her. Both he and Shirley insist on being called by their first names, because they don't want there to be any hierarchy amongst them. They are a little odd like that.

"You look sad. What's making you feel like that?"

She sighs, "I don't know. Have you ever had the feeling that you're missing something?"

"Well, yes.", he replies, some worry in his voice. "Like when I can't find my pyamas."

"That's because Shirley likes them a lot.", she smiles, looking at him. "But I mean, the feeling that you're missing some part of yourself."

Now he looks really worried, and he blinks a few times. Softly he answers her: "Wow heavy. But yes, I know it all too well. What is it that you're missing?"

"I don't know, just that something isn't there."

"Do you remember your first day in school?"

Of course she can remember that. It was a terrible day, starting when her name was read, and ending with her trying to run away. "Yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing.", he lies, and quite obviously at that.

"Why are you so worried? Is there something wrong with me?"

"No. It's just…", he stopped, looking at her with those sad eyes of his.

"What's wrong? You can tell me. I'm a big girl.", not that she was of course, being only seven.

"Well. It's like really heavy.", again he paused, and Hermione tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"It's fine, you said it yourself, it's good to talk about your problems."

"Something happened to me when I was seven. Just as old as you are now. And I don't know what. I know nothing. Nothing at all from before that day."

She couldn't hide her surprise. No wonder that he never talked about his childhood. He didn't have any! But then her mind kicked in. Her rational side. This could hardly be real. People didn't forget themselves. Not just like that. "What, how, ehm, do you have any idea?"

"No", he replies sadly, "nothing at all. I just was there. At King's Cross, with nothing but my clothes and a little piece of paper. No, not paper. That other thing, that they used long ago."

"Parchment, you mean?", she asks.

"Yes, that terrible stuff. I mean, who would kill an animal just to like write. That's really heavy."

This was really sparking her curiosity. Parchment was used only rarely after all. "Was there anything written on it?"

"Yeah, there was. It was like my name. Just that, Neil. And another line with 'birthday: 14-09-1956'And I had some money in my pocket. That was everything."

"Everything? Did you ever find out. Where you come from, I mean?"

"No. The police had a short investigation. But they never found anything."

"Do you remember anything, anything at all?", she asks, eager to figure out what has happened. Something tells her that there was some sort of magic behind this, but that seems all too unlikely. Memory charms are difficult, she remembers that well enough from when she altered the memories of her parents, it took a lot of effort. And even then, it was her family. Why would anyone go through all that trouble to send a child away without any links to his past, but still with money? Taking all the memories from someone that age, her own age would be a terrible thing. And even then, his parents would have gone looking for him. No, it simply has to be something different.

"No. Only the parchment with Neil on it. And the coins. Just a few of them.", he sniffs, "Sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Neil, I'm sorry for asking about it."

XxXxX

For the rest of the day she can't focus on her book. For some reason the movement of air around a wing doesn't hold her interest anymore. Instead, she is thinking about her father, and what could have happened. He is a muggle, that much is clear, not a hint of magic about him. Which basically excludes the possibility of magic playing a part in this. It has to be something else. But what can possibly damage a brain to such an extent that it can't recall anything anymore of seven whole years?

At first she thinks that it might have been a blow on the head. But he would have mentioned an injury, it would have been hard not to notice, even with the medical technology of that time. After all, doctors would still have had eyes. And such a case would always have drawn them like moths to a flame. Things like that are just too interesting to pass up. Which incidentally must also be the reason why it can't leave her.

That first option discarded alongside the magical one, her mind finds another possibility. Perhaps he had ingested something that destroyed every part of his memory? But that too would be rather odd, she had never heard of such a substance, or even read about it. And such things would be more than a little famous. And again, it might have been detected during the search for answers about him. And he still knew words and other things like that. Making this an unlikely option as well. But then another thought strikes her. Neil is a little odd. He seems slow, finds it hard to remember everything, but at the same time he is still a very intelligent person, otherwise he would never be working for one of those schools that muggles call a university. In a research position nonetheless. It seems likely that that trait would have to do with the incident.

And there has to be something more. There is no reason why someone would give a piece of parchment with a name and a date on it to a boy like that. Not unless whoever brought him to the station knew that he would forget everything before that moment. But who would do that, and why?

Still thinking things over she is disturbed, this time by one of the people she least wants to speak to. "Hi!", Linda starts excitedly. "Have you heard it?"

She looks up from her book, still at the chapter about the airflow. "No, I haven't, unless someone else already told me."

"Well", she starts while sitting down in the tall grass, entering what Hermione has come to call her story-mode. "Your mother and I went to the village today, and you would never guess what we saw."

"What?"

"There is going to be a big market for organic produce soon. And I figured, that maybe, one time only, you can go there with me, and help me out. Maybe we could even get ourselves some ice cream! I know. It isn't good at all, with all the lactose and the environment that is being destroyed by emissions and refrigerating gasses. But a girl as sweet as you are should be indulged at least once."

Unexpectedly she smiles, in this whole life she has never yet had any ice cream, not good one at least, because her parents, and the people they live with, consider it to be basically horrible. "But won't they mind? I mean, it is bad right?"

As she speaks it strikes her that it is strange that she focuses on the ice cream, and not on the helping Linda for a whole day, in some strange town. But then again, she hasn't had anything sweet for years, and she misses it so much.

"It can be our little secret!", the woman exclaims, grabbing Hermione and dragging her up from her book. "Don't I deserve a hug?"

Half-heartedly the girl hugs her, once again wishing that she had a wand so she could curse the woman and her grating, far too high-pitched voice. But then again, ice cream. She misses it a lot. Just like all the other sweets. Even her old parents let her have some, some of the time. And they were dentists. Not whatever her new parents are. She still doesn't entirely get that. Shirley makes paintings, which she always fails to sell, and Neil writes, but also doesn't sell anything. But he has a small salary from the university.

Then she gets an idea. "Did Neil ever tell you about his past? I mean, when he was my age?"

Linda's voice drops to little more than a whisper as she leans towards her: "We shouldn't talk about that here. Maybe when we go next week?"


	6. Coming Home

She sits in the van, the only vehicle that they have at home, except for James' motorcycle. The thing is old, but it still works, even if it attracts quite some attention on the road. Such colourful vehicles are quite rare after all, most people tend to not paint their cars in all the colours they can find, with flowers everywhere. And even more people don't have a small garden on the roof. Which of course is to protect the environment from the pollution caused by it.

The girl looks at herself in the mirror of the van. In the house they don't have mirrors, because it doesn't matter what you look like. But still she occasionally gets curious. She tries to take a bath every day, unlike for instance her mother, who thinks that once every three or four days is more than enough. She likes being clean. Every time she sees her mirror image she is surprised, she still isn't used to it, she always has to tell herself that it's her.

Her hair is unbrushed. When it first started growing she tried using her fingers, but soon enough that wasn't enough, and she didn't see any excuse to ask for a brush. That in turn has led to it becoming one big tangled mess, joined together in a series of dark brown rope-like strands running down her head. This morning she tied daisies and dandelions side of the road around some of them. Shirley always really likes it when she does that, and tells her that it makes her look very nice.

She has a narrow face, and despite being outside regularly she is relatively pale, although she can't figure out why that would be. She has brown eyes, there is nothing special about them, every time she sees them she finds them a little bland. And she wears glasses, they are relatively large and round, her parents chose them for her, and she doesn't care all that much for how she looks anyways. And neither do they, they always say that spending too much on such things is giving in to the capitalists, and that there are much more important things to focus on.

She can't really see her clothes in the rearview mirror, but they're nothing special. At least, not to her, most people might find them a little odd. In her old life she would certainly have noticed. She wears a white dress, which Linda has sewed for her. It doesn't fit very well, but that doesn't matter. It has already lasted her almost a year, and will last her for quite a while, hopefully. She has dyed it herself, leaving only a little of the original white under the yellow, red and blue. Just the way they all like it.

Most of the time, especially when she is at home and it's summer, she doesn't wear any shoes. She likes the feeling of the grass between her toes. But now she is wearing a pair of second-hand sandals, obviously not made from leather, that would be wrong. Her parents say that it is a kind of murder to kill animals. She doesn't fully agree, gets their point, which is why she already decided not to eat any meat, even when she goes to live somewhere else. She doesn't even dare to think about going to Hogwarts anymore, not while she still has seen no hint of magic in her life.

Just before they left everyone had helped to load several crates with vegetables into the back of the van, and had kissed Rainbow goodbye. The name was becoming more and more difficult to her, she was seeing herself as both Rainbow and Hermione. Although she sometimes wondered if she was just insane. That all those memories were just figments of her imagination. Perhaps caused by the pills that the adults sometimes took, or the fumes from the things they smoke. She had once asked if she could try as well, but apparently those things are only for grownups.

She turns her head to look at Linda, who is busy driving. "Where are we going?"

Linda looks away from the road, to the girl sitting next to her: "The market is in Reading. Which is really far away. Almost thirty miles."

Immediately she decided to not ask anything else during the trip. She didn't want to have an accident. But she knows Reading. It is where she grew up, which she still considers a rather odd thing to think. She lived there in her previous life, when she was Hermione Granger, a perfectly ordinary girl with an extraordinary love for learning and books. Okay, she might not have been that ordinary, but from her new perspective, she definitely was, Hermione Granger had never worn so many bright colours, and most definitely no flowers in her hair.

She feels excited, she knows that it is a relatively large town, but still, there will be so many familiar things. As they get closer she watches, she sees familiar buildings, and they even pass her old school. She has both good and bad memories of it, she learned to read there, but she also learned that other children didn't like her liking books that much. And of course, it was where she had her first crush. It was a girl in her class, Emily, and it had ended badly. She, in all her naivety, had thought that it might have been a good idea to confess it, it was what people in the books always did after all, and she didn't know then that those books weren't always entirely honest. And maybe she should also have questioned why things were always between girls and boys. Never any variation.

And well, she had found out all too well that she shouldn't have done that. Emily had been more than just angry, she was furious, and Hermione ran way. She had never told anyone else, afraid of another such reaction, even when she learned more about such things. And in the end that led to all the trouble. If only she had talked a bit more about herself, about her feelings, then things might have gone differently.

XxXxX

She thinks that she isn't much help at the market, she can't really lift the crates, they are far too heavy for her slight frame. And she doesn't even get a good chance to ask Linda about Neil, not with all the people who are around at the market, it is quite a private thing after all. It isn't often that she is in such a crowd, and she notices that quite some of them are looking at her. That's quite usual when she is in public, but she doesn't like it very much. She's never been the type that really enjoys attention.

But here, behind the market stall that they have been assigned. Linda has put up a large sign over it, which Shirley has painted onto a cloth. From where she's standing Hermione can see a few other stands, but most of them look, well, a bit more professional. Right in front of them is a man selling band T-shirts, who looks as though he is on such markets almost every day of the week. To the left of that one there is an elderly couple, with large piles of second hand books in front of them. It takes her all of her self-control to not run over there and start looking through them. But she has an easy argument for it, she has no money, so she couldn't buy anything anyways. On the T-shirt salesman's other side she sees a rather strange stall, offering a wide variety of stones with mystical properties. Immediately she is reminded of her old life, and how much she misses the magic. The real magic, not that of stones connecting to inner energies to do whatever they do. It's almost as nonsensical as divinations, and she positively hated that class.

To her own right there is a stand with so-called home-baked pies, and they smell quite delicious, even if the ingredients might not be organic, and the old woman selling them does not look like a witch. Not the real kind though, more like the children's book version, including a large wart on her nose. On the left side there is a direct competitor. He is selling vegetables as well, but has far more variety, and they also look quite a lot shinier. They however are imported, and she knows all too well that that is terrible for the environment. She never really worried about it before, but now that she has actually read about it, she is starting to see it as a terrible problem. All the poisons going into the air, and then there of course is the heating up of the whole planet. She knows that lots of people don't really believe in it, but the way she sees it, they just want to keep living like they do. Just like they don't notice the magical world. And in magical society, they have no idea about the environment. She will have to do something about that, if she ever gets the chance.

She stands, looking over the first visitors of the day. Most of them look at Linda and her, but hardly any even come close. Let alone buy anything. There seems to be a distaste of them. All the other stalls already have had several customers, but they have no one. She looks at Linda: "Why isn't anyone coming here? Is this normal?"

"Oh sweetie, don't worry", the woman replies in her terrible voice, "the early risers never come to us. Most people don't see the world as it is, and are caught up only in their material desires."

"But, will there be people, later?"

"Oh yes, don't worry about that."

"What do we do until they come?", she asks, afraid of just having to sit here all day.

"I have an idea!", Linda smiles, and Hermione feels worried. That smile tends to be followed by things she doesn't like at all. "I could get out my guitar, and then you could climb onto the table, and dance. You like dancing, don't you?"

It must be an idea to draw people to them, Hermione saw no other reason for it. She doesn't like dancing very much, she prefers a good book, but she can't sit here, reading in Reading. She wants to go and walk around, for all the memories that she has of this place, but she can't. Not on her own, and Linda has to stay here, to sell her self-grown vegetables. She understands why customers won't prefer them, they aren't nearly as shiny as those sold by others, and of course, there is far less variation. Mostly cucumbers, lettuce and several types of beans, alongside some fruit and of course, herbs. Not nearly as inviting as brightly coloured paprikas or tomatoes. They haven't even filled the table of the stall completely, leaving an open area in the middle, on the side that they're standing on.

"Yes!", she lies. She has learned to become a better liar over the years, even before she came back. She just had too many secrets to keep.

Linda stands up and opens the van, to take out the guitar. Like many other things in the house, it has been painted by Shirley. And like almost all of them, it is brightly coloured, with a rainbow following the length of it. Rainbow takes off her sandals as she climbs onto the table. It is a little difficult, but with the help of a stool she gets there. Linda sits back down and starts to play. Quite badly really, but no one ever had the heart to tell her that. And she starts dancing, slowly at first, but more wildly later. The strands of hair fly around her head, a sensation that she has come to like over the years, but there is the slight issue of being watched.

And watched she is. She sees more and more people looking her way. She is used to it by now, but one of them she can't shake free from, miss Johnson, from fourth year. She forces herself to not wave at her, miss Johnson always was one of her favourite teachers, in her class she was allowed to read further than she had to, and had actually finished all the schoolwork of the year by Christmas. Thinking about her brings a big grin to her face, even though she knows that they will never truly meet.

Suddenly Linda stops playing, much to Hermione's relief. She slows down a little, and to her surprise it looks like there are actual customers. A slightly overweight man who is looking around, almost seeming ashamed of himself. But she hardly sees him. She only sees miss Johnson, walking right towards her!

She is starting to feel ashamed when the woman speaks to her, for the first time in years, and at the same time, before they ever spoke to each other: "Hello. You can dance very well, what is your name?"

For a few moments she can't reply, too surprised by this. She always had her teacher in her mind as a very kind person. But that was to her pupils. Not to just a stranger. "Hi! I'm He- Rainbow."

She almost messed up, for the first time in all those years. Luckily miss Johnson hasn't picked up on it. "Well Rainbow, how old are you?"

"I'm seven!", she answers, trying to sound like the other children she occasionally meets.

"Oh! You must be going to school already then."

This time she has to think a little, pushing away the sadness. All those beautiful memories of learning are something that she will never repeat. The thrill of discovery in the classroom, the beauty of finally achieving something new. Of course, she can still learn many things, but she will have to do that herself. "I don't go to school, I'm home-schooled."

When she says that the woman's face seems to darken a little, she obviously disapproves of it. "And do you have many friends?"

"Yes! I have Linda, and James, and Neil and Shirley. And lots of others too. But they're not always around.", Hermione answers, starting to feel more than a little unsure.

"Good", miss Johnson replies, "a girl your age should have plenty of other children to play with."

She feels ashamed of herself, even after all these years. She looks down at her feet. "Yes, but I prefer reading in the grass."

XxXxX

Finally miss Johnson had left, after buying several cucumbers. It put a bit of a sour taste over the rest of the morning, knowing that her favourite teacher from her primary school disagreed with her current schooling, even though Hermione knows all too well that going to a school would only cost her a lot of time, and could actually get her into trouble.

Throughout the morning more and more customers came to the stall, and she actually did some helping with selling things, still without a good opportunity to talk with Linda however. Lunch was a simple salad, one of the things that she has really come to like in her new home. Much better than the bread that she had before. After she has eaten her vegetables Linda turns to her: "Rainbow, dear, you've been a great help so far. Do you remember our little secret?"

Hermione nods: "Yes, I can try ice cream!"

"Yes you can.", Linda smiles, and gives her a few coins, "there is someone selling it just around the corner there. You know how to buy something, right?"

"Yes, I do.", she feels very excited, recalling again how much she misses little things like that.

"Good. Go there, and don't go wandering around on your own. As soon as you have it, you start eating, and come back here. OK?"

"Yes!"

"And a little hint from Linda: get something with chocolate. Chocolate is the best, that is something that all girls should know.", Linda winks, and Hermione immediately turns around, walking towards where the ice cream should be.

She works her way through the crowd, by now it is pretty busy, and it is difficult, many people don't even notice her. But slowly she makes her way to the little stall. There are lots of different tastes, and in her head she calculates that she can have a cone with three scoops, and even some whipped cream on top. But it is busy, there are lots of people waiting in line. And she even knows some of them. There even is an old classmate of hers, Matthew. She never liked him, he hated her for reading that much, and always called her a rabbit, because of her teeth. And he was a member of the small group that put glue in her hair once. And she doesn't have a wand to curse him. It is something that she has come to desire more and more often. Just a little hex, even if she knows that it's bad.

While waiting she looks at the enormous selection, constantly changing what she wants, until it is finally her turn. The man, or rather, boy, behind the counter can hardly see her, but still she squeeks excitedly: "I would like one scoop of dark chocolate, one of straciatella and one of white chocolate on a cone with whipped cream please!"

She pays, and a few moments later she holds a, to her, enormous cone, with three large balls of ice on top. Enthusiastically she takes a bit, and she suddenly feels one of her molars. It hurts, stinging. But she won't let all this delicious ice cream go to a waste, and she keeps eating on her way back. The pain seems to go away a little, her nerve ends numbed, and she feels happy when she returns to Linda. The woman in turn looks at her with a large grin on her face, as she sells something to another customer. "Do you like it?"

Hermione can't even reply, and only nods, still enjoying the taste. "Mmm, hmm"

After some time she reaches the actual cone. It is harder than she remembers it, and she bites off a piece. Chewing it. And then, a strange feeling, like something crumbling. She feels a part of her gums that she has never felt before, it is cold, and it hurts. She stops eating for a few moments, feeling her molars with her tongue. And then she notices it. She can go between the one that hurt and another. She feels loose hard pieces there, and they are sharp. The pain is getting worse, and she releases the cone from her mouth. "Linda. Something happened. A piece of my tooth broke off."


	7. A Split Tooth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not having updated in a while, but my personal life has been a bit of a mess lately.

Hermione's tooth is hurting more and more, the sugar of the ice cream burning into it. She has even started crying, while Linda is quite obviously in a panic. "I can't leave the stall. And I don't know a good herbal remedy. Just don't tell Neil and Shirley, Okay? Please?"

"It hurts!", she replies, "can I go to a dentist, please?"

"But sweetie, dentists are like doctors, and they're all liars."

"But my tooth hurts a lot. I promise that I won't tell anyone!"

"But I can't leave the stall, and there isn't anyone to take you there.", Linda is speaking more and more rapidly, as though she is actually afraid.

"Can't I go alone? I can ask someone to bring me there. They will help me. I'm sure of it."

"But..", Linda starts, before being interrupted by the young girl: "I can also go to the village on my own, to the library. And I, ouch, won't tell anyone. Just let me go. It hurts."

XxXxX

A little later she finds herself in the company of a policeman, who volunteered to take her to a dentist. She has learned that she should be afraid of them, and if she is honest, she actually is. She remembers moving out of their previous house, when there was a group of them, and they beat Neil and Shirley, and many others, as they were forced out of it. But this policeman doesn't frighten her, which is why she went to him. She used to know him a little, he sometimes even visited her home, in her previous life. His wife, Mrs. Dowling, was the assistant of her parents, and they got along quite well. She thinks that he won't beat her just for what she looks like.

And he didn't. When she asked him, he actually was friendly, and said that he would do his utmost to help, although she could hear him grumbling something about hippies not looking after their kids. She might agree a little with it, but this time there is an actual explanation. Of course, most parents won't let their little daughter go around all alone, but hers know that she is different, although they belief that it is because they give her the freedom that a child needs to grow into herself. And she doesn't mind it at all.

But now, in the police car, she is starting to feel nervous. They drive through familiar streets, past familiar houses. She knows every bit of it, this is a route that she has taken so many times. The way to her old neighbourhood from the city center. She always went past there when shopping for anything with her parents. But she can't be taken there, it is a Saturday, and her old parents never worked on weekends, not until she started Hogwarts, they wanted to spend the weekends with their daughter. She wrecks her brain, trying to recall any other dentists nearby. There was Mr. Harper, she never liked him, and most children who went there were really afraid of him. They said that he always said terrible things, and talked about enjoying hurting them.

But he worked on Saturdays. "Where are we going?"

"To some of my friends, they will help you, I'm sure of it. Don't you worry about that, your pain will be over soon.", he answered, looking at her with care in his eyes.

It is confusing, on one hand, her new parents say that the police are fascists, only there to take their freedom away. And so far, in this life, she has seen only that. They were the ones who threw them from houses, who always search their van. They even arrested people she knows a few times, mostly for trespassing, and for having certain herbs with them. The stuff that they smoke, that Hermione isn't allowed to, just like she can't take the pills. Not that she wants to, it seems to make them really slow, which she doesn't want to be. But now the police is helping her, and she hardly dares to hope it. She might finally be going home.

She looks out of the window, when she sees the turn to home. And then they pass it. She starts to cry again, hopefully Mr. Dowling wouldn't think much of it, that she's just crying because her tooth hurts. She can't deal with having to tell more lies right now. She sniffs: "Is it far?"

"Oh no, don't you worry about that. But what was your name again? I'm a bit forgetful you see."

"Rainbow, sir, Rainbow Star"

Well Rainbow Star, you're not afraid of the dentist, are you?

She sobs: "I've never been, sniff, to one."

In the mirror she sees him shake his head at that remark, and vaguely hears something like: "Crazy hippies", but then he speaks up again: "There is nothing to be afraid of. My wife even works for two of them. Really friendly people, and they definitely won't hurt you. They only try to help."

Two streets later than she had hoped he turns left. He should have turned two ago, not here. She doesn't know where she is going now, she can't recall anything of the kind in this place. And then he turns left again, and she knows where she is. She knows all the houses here, even the little playground that she visited sometimes. She looks, and some of the other children are there. But not her, of course, why should she? Even when she was seven she already spent most of her time reading, or alone. Also because she didn't have any friends. She never had any friends before Hogwarts.

She feels almost overwhelmed, everything is as it was, even the spelling error on the sign with the street name, the one containing the extra S which should not have been there. When she first noticed it she had been angry, how could anyone working for the government be so stupid? Only later did she learn that people working for the government are in fact mostly stupid, or useless, or actually evil. Mostly a combination of the three. Like the Ministry of Magic, not a single one of them knew the barest thing about proper governance.

And then she sees it. Her old house. It is a relatively large building, with the practice on half the ground floor, and the rest of it for her and her parents. Or perhaps she should put it differently, her old self and her old parents. She looks at it longingly, wishing that all this had never happened, and that she could just walk in there, say hello to them, and perhaps even introduce a girlfriend. That would be nice, but utterly impossible now. She can only hope that Hermione, the one actually bearing the name, if she exists at all, will have that happiness. But that means that she will have to be able to do magic, and to actually help. Otherwise it will just be another doomed existence, an extension of the previous one.

The police car stops in front of the house, and Mr. Dowling opens his door saying: "Come, don't be afraid."

Right next to her is the grey Vauxhall Astra that her parents used to drive, before they got the new car, just before she turned ten. She slowly opens the door, and when she gets out she looks at the house. And specifically one window, on the second floor. She can see the red curtains, and even, barely, the bear hanging in front of it. The memory of bringing it home is still clear, and after putting it in front of the window in her room, it was never removed. Not even when she was much older.

Mr. Dowling stands next to her, and takes her hand gently. "Everything will be just fine. The Grangers are the best dentists in Reading, and friendly to boot."

He smiles at her, and brings her to the front door. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has, and it takes all of her self-control to not start jumping in excitement. She is afraid of what will happen when he rings the bell. Will there be a connection? Will her parents actually see her as something special? Or will she just be a disturbance of their quiet Saturday?

She hears someone coming down the stairs, but she can't see through the glass to find out who it might be. She feels to excited, she can hardly hide it anymore. Only pushing against her broken molar helps, the pain gives her something else to think about. Or rather, it drives the thoughts from her head. And then the door starts to open.

Hermione stands paralyzed as she looks at none other than Hermione Granger. She can't take the eyes off herself. She can't say a word, and knows that she looks like an idiot.

"Hi", Hermione says, meekly.

And she doesn't reply, not knowing what she should do now. Luckily, Mr. Dowling saves the situation: "Hello Hermione, are your parents at home?"

"Yes! Who is that?", the girl who was her answers, curious as always, but also a little afraid.

Finally she gathers her courage to say something, afraid of ruining everything. "I'm Rainbow."

"That's not a name. What is your real name?", was she such a know-it-all before? No wonder that she wasn't all that popular with the other children.

"My name is Rainbow, Rainbow Star. What is yours?", she insists, realizing that she indeed has a name which sounds a little stupid.

"I'm Hermione. Why are you here?"

It is difficult, looking up to herself, and trying not to betray anything. She doesn't answer at first, and again the policeman saves her. "She hurt herself, and I want to talk to your parents for a moment please."

With that Hermione turns around and heads back into the house, seeming relieved. She can understand that, she never liked talking to strangers, not when she was that age before. Rainbow still doesn't like it, she prefers the company of her books, they don't judge, unlike people.

A few moments later she hears new footsteps approaching, and then she sees him. Her father, after all these years. She can feel her heart leap up, and has to put in a lot of effort to not smile. There is pain, but that doesn't compare to seeing someone who had always been there for her. Until she took away his memories, it still hurts, to even think about it. And now it is the same. He doesn't know her, at all. To him, she is just another strange girl, who just so happens to be the same age as his daughter.

"Hello Gerald? Hermione said that you were here. Is there anything that we can do?", even now his voice feels soothing, calming. She knows that she will never have that kind of bond with Neil and Shirley.

"Yes, I'm sorry for interrupting your day off, but I saw this young lady here, and she has a little problem that she needs help with. And you were the first who came to mind."

"Of course, I'm always ready to help." Her father kneels down to her, looking at her with his honest brown eyes. "Hello there! I'm dr. Granger. Who are you?"

It takes an even greater effort to not smile in ecstasy. She missed him so much. "I'm Rainbow. My tooth hurts."

"Well then Rainbow, come with me. Where are your parents?"

"They are at home, I came here with my friend, Linda, who is at the market, selling vegetables.", she replies, repressing the urge to say that they are right here.

"And what happened to you?", he asks, his voice full with care.

"I, I was eating ice cream, and bit on the cone. And then it hurt, and when I felt, half my tooth was gone!"

"Does your friend, Linda, know where you are?"

"No, she couldn't leave, but he", she points at Mr. Dowling, "was really nice and brought me here."

"Fixing your tooth will take some time, do you have any way to contact her?", he asks, sounding concerned. She missed it so much, having parents who actually worried about her. Shirley doesn't even blink when she comes home late at night, and never asks where she goes. And Neil is even worse in that regard.

"No, but maybe he can tell her where I am, and she can come to pick me up when the market's over?", Hermione recommends, feeling more and more awkward with calling herself that.

"Yes, good thinking, Rainbow.", M. Dowling reacts, "Then I'll go there right away, how do I recognize your friend?"

"She is at a stall with a large sign in all the colours of the rainbow. It says 'Organic and Clean Fruits and Vegetables', there is only one of them, so it should be easy to find."

"I'm going then, good luck Rainbow, and see you later!", the policeman says before he turns around and heads back to his car. But she has no eyes for him. She only looks at the familiar house, and the all-too familiar face of her father.

She follows him inside, looking around, and recognizing every little thing. The pictures on the walls, even the spots on the floor. It all is familiar, far too familiar for someone who hasn't been there for almost a decade. She finally understands how much she has missed all this, and the knowledge that she will never have it back hurts her to her very core, almost bringing her to tears despite the happiness of seeing it all again.

She is brought to the door that separates the house from the practice, which she wasn't allowed to go through except in real emergencies. The door leads to the central hallways, and her father walks on, towards the little waiting room, with the building blocks and the old magazines, she can't recall them ever being replaced. "You will have to wait here for a few minutes, I have to get some things ready, okay?"

"I will wait here", she smiles at him, feeling more at home than she has in many years, perhaps more than she has in both of her lives together. The door is closed, and she is left alone, in the waiting room. She knows all the magazines by heart, and she decides that she should try to spend her time in a productive way. She sits down on the blue miniature chair in front of the table with the legos and places one of the blocks in front of her. And again she repeats the incantation: "Wingardium Leviosa"

Nothing happens, as always. But she tries again and again, losing herself in her little game. Again she repeats the spell, and this time there is movement. The little yellow block flies up into the air, floating in front of her eyes.

She smiles widely, and hears herself say: "How did you do that?"

Wait, she did not say that. It is her other her. With her eyes wide open she turns her head towards the door, which is slightly ajar, with Hermione's head sticking through it.

And the question is repeated: "How did you make it fly?"

Her mind is racing: "Come in and close the door, I will try to explain it."

Slowly Hermione, the one with the actual name, walks into the room, and warily approaches the little witch. She knows it now, she has magic.

"Okay, ehm, yeah, ehm, this, ehm", she starts, "well, you see, ehm, there is this thing."

The girl looks at her as though she has been hit by a confundus charm, but still she tries to say this in a non-stupid way. "Okay, let's start over. I'm a witch", she blurts.

That came out a little less intelligent than she had hoped to. Why couldn't she be the one who is good with words? Hermione looks at her with even more confusion, before she replies: "No, witches are from stories. They're not real."

And then she remembers. Professor McGonagall had a hard time convincing her that magic was real, and had to demonstrate several spells in order to convince her. And Rainbow can only do this one, barely. It worked once so far, after years of trying. "Well, I am a witch, how else could I make the lego float? I'm just not a very good one, yet."

"Really? It's not some sort of trick?"

She needs a lie, and a good one, to explain this. "No, ehm, some time ago I found this scrap of paper, no, not paper, parchment. Well, on this parchment there was a description of being able to make something float when you say the right words, and make the right movements. It said that you need a wand for it, but I don't have one, so I used my finger. I tried it a lot, I always do that when I'm alone and don't have a book with me. It never really worked, but it was nice to imagine it. And when I tried it just now, it actually worked!"

Hermione's face goes through a dozen states, from shock, to surprise, to anger and finally the one that it bears most often, curiosity. "Can you teach me?"

"I can try. But it took me a lot of time. So, ehm, you hold your finger like this, and then you make this swooshing movement, pointing at the thing you want to float. And while you do that, you have to say 'wingardium leviosa', exactly like that, or it won't work. I think, I only got it to work just now with that pronunciation."

And Hermione starts trying, without any success of course. "Can you show it again?"

And again Rainbow tries the spell, and finds that it works again. But this doesn't make her as happy. It instead worries her. What if Hermione can't do magic? What if she never goes to Hogwarts? That would be terrible. It would ruin everything that should still work out, without her Harry will never have any success, especially not if he still befriends that dimwit, Ron.

"How long did it take you to learn it?"

"I've been trying it since I was five, so more than two years now."

"Wow, so, it is really difficult?"

"I think so. But maybe it is easier with a wand. It has to be, the pa-parchment said something about a wand."

"What is a wand?"

"I, ehm, don't know. Some sort of magic stick I think.", she replies, trying to not betray too much.

Before more questions can be asked, she can hear footsteps approaching, and she lets the block drop and whispers: "This is our little secret, okay? Just don't tell anyone."

The door opens, and her father enters: "Rainbow, can you come with me? We can take a look at your tooth now."

She follows, leaving herself behind in confusion. But after a short time she already hears the spell again, bringing a smile to her face.

He motions her to sit down on the large chair, which she has been in quite often in her old life, and sits down himself, getting out a piece of paper. "I'm really sorry, but before we begin, I have to fill in this form."

She nods in understanding. The muggle government is almost as bad as the Ministry.

"Now, first of all, your last name, it's Star right? And your first name is Rainbow?"

Again she nods. "Yes"

He scribbles something down, in his utterly unreadable handwriting. "And your birthday?"

"September 21", she answers.

"And do you know which year?"

"1979"

"So, you're seven now?"

"Yes"


End file.
